


There Is Only One

by Vixengirl101



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2567951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixengirl101/pseuds/Vixengirl101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is master here.<br/>She will never be like them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Is Only One

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the character, including the unspecified female character as she is reminiscent of a friend whose dominating nature has always cause the submissive side of me to stare in awe.

_Not fair. Not fair at all._

He watched her, discontent evident on his face as she smiled at the man who sat next to her. His arm was snaked along the back of her chair, resting casually across the padded back as his fingers inched along the inside. 

Sure they were talking about something stupid and irrelevant, they had to be; his dragged his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his irrational mind. He watched from a distance as the brat’s fingers slid down the back of her dress as he leaned in and whispered into her ear. She laughed and reclined forward into the bar, pulling her skin away from him in a move that praised sexual grace and hid ulterior motives. 

He sighed, tramping down his irritation at the punk who continued to smile and laugh and tell pointless things to her as she smiled and laughed and pretended to care. He’d spent years reading the body language of every person that passed him, honed it into a skill that was far more useful for his job than his weekend bar hoping but he couldn’t quite turn the skill off now that he’d spent so much time using it.

He tramped down his irritation, telling himself it was pointless and frankly unfair to be mad at her. She didn’t even know he was interest, couldn't because that kind of relationship just couldn't be furthered with her. Not without the loss of a few limbs. And maybe his dignity. 

There was a reason he has only ever watched from the sidelines. Watched as she eyed every man that approached her, every random asshole who slid a finger down her bare back.

Every guy except for him.

Ridiculous.

Pathetic.

He sighed, dropping his fingers from his short hair and wrapping them around his cooling glass of whiskey. He downed it in one long gulp, letting it burn its way down his throat in a futile attempt to drown out his anger.

There were eyes on him again, always eyes, and he scowled into the empty glass in a futile attempt at hiding his irritation. It was getting the better of him. 

Unforunately.

He was irritated true, the snide remarks on his lack of anything remotely living to have had an interest in him in the last six months had hit home in a way he wasn’t sure he wanted to analyze. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been interested in what had come his way, he’d just been, distracted. Too distracted to really keep them from noticing he wasn’t all that interested in _them_.

He’d need to quench his thirst once and for all if he was to get anything done on this godforsaken planet. Work and play never worked well but he knew from experience that the woman at the bar would run him through the ringer before she’d give him an inch in finishing his job.

But it wasn’t like sitting here and downing every ounce of alcohol in the bar was exactly helping.

He glanced at the empty whiskey glass still sitting idly in his hand and set it on the counter for the bartender. It wasn’t exactly like it could hurt either.

He watched her send that asshole away, a sharp tongue and a twitch of her hand sending his shoulders slumping into that dejected look that he’d seen on so many prospectors. Just never the right ones.

He caught her eye over the top of another glass and tilted the corners of his lip up to show he was still paying attention. She always did like to see her effects on him. Red lips tilted up as a glass of Moscato made its way down that sinful throat, the smooth glide punctuated by the gentle contractions of her Adams apple.

He really needed to learn to pay less attention to all the details.

The harsh slide of a stool on concrete drew his attention back as another stranger slipped into the recently vacated chair. He took in the shorter form, the long black hair, and the boots that were shoved over too tight pants, a bottle of the bar’s strongest beer in his hand as he smiled at the woman.

And watched with subtle fascination, the way he always did, as she became less a predator and more a flirty drunk out to bag the local bad boy.

And local bad boy he was, Frank Iero, was wanted across the galaxy for several counts of trespassing and more than his fair share of illegal possession. Possession of weapons far above his pay grade. He had a nasty habit of keeping six gun within arm’s reach at all times, and a really bad habit of drinking way too much beer in one sitting.

He was one of the most wanted men in the galaxy.

And he was going up against one of the most dangerous woman it had ever seen.

Dressed completely in red, she was a sight to behold. She’d played her part perfectly, shooting down every man who came up to her until Frank was interested enough to try his own hand.

And she seemed drunk enough to not be a threat.

He watched them do the dance, the classic predator and prey dance that both had down so well but knew from the way her hand slithered over onto his thigh that she had him both intrigued and pinned.

He didn’t bother watching when she led him off.

Instead his took his fourth glass of whiskey and dropped it back, letting it burn its way down as he smiled at the young woman from across the room that had been watching him all night. She too was dressed to attract attention but she’d gotten far less in her little black dress than his partner in her blood red that screamed all sorts of pleasure.

There was something to be said about a woman with confidence.

He smirked at the woman across the room and rose with the fluid grace of a bigger predator in a smaller body. He could play with the best of him but he’d learned quite solidly over the last year that he really just wanted one person in particular.

And she was far above his league.

He made it down the hall on his own before she caught up to him. She was coming out of a room just down the hall from theirs, swiping a pink tongue over the corners of her lips as she pulled the door closed behind her.

She tensed for just a second, the only sign he’d actually snuck up on her and admired the way her lips tilted up in greeting.

“He’s attached to the bed, Gerard. Not going anywhere for the night. We can turn him in come the morning light.” She waved a little syringe at him, one he’d bet his next paycheck on that Frank hadn’t seen coming. 

Not with his dick down her throat anyway.

“Don’t look so put out.” She was joking for all of a few seconds before she wasn’t. He doesn’t remember how he ended up against the door, doesn’t really remember opening it at all.

He does remember the press of her lithe little lethal body against his.

Does remember the way her hands pinned his to the door, one second just hanging limply by the side, the next handcuffed to the nearest surface so he’s one his knees and spread for her.

He does remember, quite distinctly, the scraped of her fingernails through his hair. The way she pulled his head up and tilted it back so that he had to look at her.

He remembers the red tilt of lips, the soft press of them against his mouth, and the soft sounds that escaped his mouth when she’d pulled back.

She’d slapped him then. He does remember that. The sharp pain that flared across his cheek and she sneered at him so prettily and told him to shut his goddamn mouth.

She slid to the floor then, all grace and no awkwardness to undo his belt and steal his breath.

He doesn’t remember breathing again until the first slid of her tongue and the warm insistent press of her mouth.

He doesn’t cum, distinctly remembers not being allowed to but he does follow her with his eyes when she stands and moves away.

She lets him sit for a while, pulling at his bonds and unable to get away before she returns.

He gets to crawl.

Humiliation is nothing compared to feeling that focus on him, the way she follows his every movement as he follows after her. She’s seated carefully in the single chair, legs crossed delicately in front of her and he gets a reward for crawling without asking.

He gets to kiss her until he gets dizzy.

When he finally breaks away, she’s so compliant when she’s rewarding him, he takes a moment to really look at her and see the affect he has on her.

It’s nothing compared to what she does to him.

There’s an insist tugging on his hair, pushing his head down and he follows it, letting her lead him. His nose is pushed into her clothed sex and he smells her before he ever gets to touch her.

When she releases his head, tells him to please her like he’s done to so many others, he can only tell her no.

Her anger is fierce, controlled and aimed all at him and he rushes to soften it before she misunderstands.

It’s not about pleasing her like he’s pleased other.

He can’t do that.

Would never do that.

He’ll please her the way she deserves to be pleased, whichever way she wants.

She is master here.

She will never be like them.

And he wouldn’t dare degrade her like that.

She softens immediately, pliant and happy in the way she smiles down at him.

She kisses him in reward, long and hard and more of a claim than he’d even imagined he’d get.

She tells him to pleasure her long and hard, and not to cum until she instructs.

And she tells him to not to use his mouth.


End file.
